


Embers

by WinchesterPooja (chronic_potterphile)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, M/M, Season 9 Spoilers, Slash, Tragedy, holy terror, supernatural 9.09
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-16
Updated: 2013-12-16
Packaged: 2018-01-04 20:51:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,582
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1085559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chronic_potterphile/pseuds/WinchesterPooja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A heartbroken prayer is answered when Castiel rushes to the side of his grieving friend.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Embers

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own anything you recognise. I really wish I did, but nope. Kripke is the one who created these amazing characters.
> 
> A/N: This is me trying to cope with winter hellatus and exam stress. The story is unbetaed, and all mistakes are mine.

 

**Embers**

 

“Cas?”

  
The low, broken mumble is all-consuming and he hears nothing else for a while — not the roaring of the flames before him, not the muted chirping of the crickets nearby — nothing. The moon isn’t up there today (new moon, he remembers), but the glowing, orange light from the flames covers for it. When he looks up at the sky, though, he sees a million stars, twinkling bright and innocent against their dark blue background.  
  
He turns back to the flames which are high, angry and warm. They lick the wooden logs on the pyre hungrily, swallowing the tarp-wrapped, human-shaped lump in the process. It’s very warm and he has an urge to pull away his coat, but he doesn’t do it. Instead, he turns his eyes to the broken man before him — Dean — sitting in front of the pyre, arms hugging his knees to his chest and illuminated by the amber from the light before him. There is a damp sheen all over his face — from a mixture of sweat and tears, Castiel guesses, and he licks his chapped lips at that, before going over and sitting next to his friend, leaves crunching under his boots as he makes way.  
  
They just sit like that for a while, in relative silence. Castiel doesn’t speak and Dean doesn’t look at him, but after some time, his mouth opens to pour out two whispered words. “He’s gone.”  
  
Castiel knows that he isn’t just talking about one person. He turns to Dean, who is brushing the sooty dampness off his face, and talks in a low voice.  
  
“What happened to Sam?”  
  
He realises that he shouldn’t ask, shouldn’t push Dean at this point, but he has to know. They might have lost Kevin for good, but Sam doesn’t seem to be dead, and it is important to find Sam from wherever he’s ‘gone’ to.   
  
Dean’s eyes fill up. “I don’t know.”  
  
“Who was that other angel, who was posing as Ezekiel?”  
  
“I don’t know…” he reiterates, and then hides his face in his hands. “Fuck…”  
  
And Castiel realises that something is  _really_  wrong here, and that Dean hasn’t told him the whole truth. He wants to ask Dean a few more questions. What went wrong? Did Sam go away wilfully — is he angry about something?   
  
 _What have you done, Dean?_  
  
However, he keeps quiet, because he prefers waiting for Dean to talk.   
  
“That… that angel…” Dean swallows, “he was the one who killed Kevin.”  
  
Castiel picks up a dried leaf and crushes it between his fingers. He expected this, he thinks, because when Dean had prayed and asked if Castiel could come over, saying an angel had killed Kevin and that Sam was ‘gone’, it hadn’t sounded like the work of anyone from Malachi or Bartholomew’s group. What would they want with a prophet anyway? Their war was against each other. So it all comes down to one thing: the culprit had to be the angel healing Sam, posing as Ezekiel.   
  
“Did he kidnap Sam too?”   
  
“You can say that.”  
  
So the only clue here is that Sam hasn’t gone on his own will. Castiel doesn’t know what to make of the information, though. Without having any idea as to who the kidnapper is, there is no way they can locate and rescue Sam. But they need to, somehow. Just then, Dean’s hand moves to his pocket and he draws out a piece of paper — yellow, by the looks of it, and Kevin’s name is illuminated by the fire before them. Dean sniffs and hands it over to Castiel.   
  
“He seemed to be doing someone’s job.” He hesitates. “I don’t get it, Cas… he could have hurt Kevin or Sammy long ago. I trusted him, and I would have never known. Why did he wait?”  
  
Castiel stares at the chit, his eyes moving over the words, ‘Kevin Tran’. He never knew the prophet too well, but the fact that he is dead causes a wave of despair to wash over Castiel. And then he realises that he recognises the handwriting. He recognises it too well.  
  
“Metatron.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“He ordered the other angel to kill Kevin. I recognise his handwriting.”  
  
Dean sighs, and licks his lips. “Y-You think… he was working with that other angel?” he asks dimly.  
  
“That seems to be the only possibility.”  
  
Dean scrubs a hand down his face. “Then we’ve got to find him.” His voice breaks and his jaw clenches. “I will kill that bastard.” He glances back at the fire. “Kev… he was so young, Cas, I—” he stops talking and his eyes drop to the ground between his feet as Castiel momentarily rests his hand on Dean’s shoulder.  
  
They don’t talk for a while after that. A chilled breeze blows over the duo, rustling the leaves as it comes, and for a while, the flames before them are tilted in the direction of the wind, crackling, throwing tiny embers here and there. Castiel looks over at Dean’s slumped form again. He remembers the desperate hope in Dean’s voice when he had prayed, asking Castiel if there is any way to bring the young prophet back, but Castiel had had to remind him with a lot of regret that damage created by grace cannot be reversed by anything — not even by an angel’s powers.  
  
It’s the real reason that despite having been healed millions of times by Castiel in the last few years, Dean still carries that hand print on his shoulder.  
  
Dean gives out one last sniffle before standing up. The breeze seems to have gone away and it’s completely warm, but the elder Winchester still shivers a little. Castiel gets up as well and shrugs off his coat, offering it to Dean, who refuses, but shivers again. At that, Castiel goes forward and puts it around Dean’s shoulders and halts, waiting for Dean to hold it around himself, which he finally does.  
  
“Thanks, Cas,” he mutters, not meeting eyes with the angel.   
  
Castiel looks around. “Do you want to get back to the bunker?”  
  
Dean shakes his head. “I want to find Sam.”  
  
“We can do it in the morning. It’s late. You need rest.” Castiel is not used to urging Dean to take care of himself as it mostly just happens the other way round, but he feels the need to step in this time.    
  
“I can’t. I need to find Sammy,” Dean insists. He sighs. “I screwed up so hard this time, Cas. If anything happens to Sam…” he shakes his head and bites his lip, keeping the sentence incomplete as tears pool in his eyes again.  
  
Castiel searches for the right words to console his friend, but can’t find any. Dean blinks back the wetness and turns his gaze to Castiel. “I’m going to start searching for Metatron right now. You coming?”  
  
Castiel sighs. “Of course, Dean, but I think we need a plan first.”  
  
“Yeah. A plan to kill that fucking—”  
  
“No,” Castiel interrupts him, “we cannot get to Metatron directly. He could kill Sam if he gets wind that we are on his trail.”  
  
“Yeah, but what other option do we have, Cas?” Dean asks him dejectedly.  
  
“We summon the other angel.”  
  
“How? I didn’t even get a name!”  
  
“How would you track Sam?”  
  
Dean thinks for a moment. “His GPS… for starters.”  
  
“Well, try that first. Try tracking Sam, instead of the angel. If that doesn’t work, we can try some summoning spells. But human ways would be the most discreet.”  
  
The hunter shuts his eyes for a moment, lets out a deep breath, as though to calm himself, and nods. “Okay. One step at a time.”  
  
“Yes,” Castiel replies. “Exactly.”  
  
A wan smile decorates Dean’s tired face. Castiel reaches out for him. “Come on. Let’s go back to the bunker.”  
  
“Yeah,” says Dean, sniffs, and looks, for one last time, at the fire. “Yeah.”  
  
Castiel inadvertently puts an arm around his friend when they start to walk away and as he holds the shaking shoulders close, he feels warm and comfortable. Dean doesn’t shrug him away and slowly, they make their way out of the clearing and through the woods.   
  
Soon, Dean stops trembling and Castiel slides his arm off him once they see the road approach. The rest of the walk is silent, but Castiel’s mind is buzzing with thoughts. And as they reach the road, he feels a hand on his shoulder.  
  
Dean turns Castiel towards him and before either of them realise it, the hunter is leaning forward, and his lips are on the angel’s. Castiel tastes soot, desperation and hope and he kisses Dean back, his hand cupping the back of Dean’s neck so he can feel the short bristles of hair there. Dean smells of salt, lighter fluid, sweat, and… well,  _Dean_ , and all of it together reminds Castiel of something… something that makes him feel very good.  
  
Dean’s hand is still on Castiel’s shoulder, but the other fists the back of his shirt. Castiel tightens his arm around him, holds him closer, and feels the tip of a tongue brush lightly against his lip just briefly, before they pull away. Dean brushes away the last vestiges of soot, sweat and tears from his face then, and turns to Castiel, a determined expression replacing all the grief.  
  
“We’ve got work to do,” he says firmly, nodding at Castiel once and starting to walk, as the angel follows him into the moonlit silence.  
  
 **The End**


End file.
